


drabbles

by Berii_kun



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:37:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1583591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Berii_kun/pseuds/Berii_kun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>small drabbles of the horrors inside Mount Massive Asylum</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

1.  
The spray stung for a moment, but the pain was gone. He drifted along with last effect of anesthesia. The wet weight of his back supported by small pieces of rust, clinging on to the surface of his skin. It was cold. It was peaceful. The darkness was welcoming, particles in the light pushed away as he drags out quiet and long breathes from his lungs. His trachea twitching for air. The muscles around his thigh slightly shaking from the prolong standing position. He was tired. All he could beg and think of was to fall back into the safe, unconscious. 

Darling. 

He felt a small, compressed shiver climbing down his back. The pain was back. The right side of his body was collapsing as the last joint in his ankle gave way. He fell. The sound of his arm and head knocking against the locker was unlawfully loud. He couldn’t control the fear, the adrenaline pumping through his veins and brain. Get me out. He scratched on the crumpled, stainless steel coffin, fingers digging through the bloody rust. Get me out. Get me out.

Sweetheart. My love. “You are hurting yourself.” 

He froze.

“Here, let me help you up. Hold still, darling.”

The voice was gentle, leading him upward. The fingers caressed through his hair, petting his shoulder and back. He couldn’t help but to cringe, to struggle. He fell down again. helplessly grasping for air, and the other man’s hands.

“Oh love, darling, are you alright? You mustn’t hurt yourself, not before our consummation, which I was just preparing for until I hear you calling for me.”

The fingers circled around his neck and stops on its way toward his chin. His face was lifted up. The other man was facing away from the ceiling light, brows carefully arched up. The deformed half of his face hidden in the shadow, and Waylon was forced to look up. The cleaner, healthier looking part of his face was wrinkled with concern. His lips were thin, tight, and the groom’s suit matched with the palette in his eyes. They were clear, watery with a shade of despondency. He gave in to that sadness for a second, then forced his head away.

“...I wasn’t....”

“Mumbling is a bad habit for women, darling. You must speak up.”

His tongue caught itself struggling between his teeth.

“...I wasn’t, calling...”

“Shh...”

His lips met with the other man’s. They were warm and, surprisingly, soft. His body froze from the shock and disgust until he realized the other’s tongue, licking through his closed, chattering teeth. He wanted to push it out. To bite it. To hurt him. His stomach twisted and turned, curled tightly inside his abdomen, triggering the sensation of nausea and, possibly vomit. The other man tasted like blood. The same rusty, uneven smell of corrosion, decomposed rot. But he was too afraid to resist. He let the other man carry his weight while struggling for his last drop of dignity.

When he finally decided to let him go, Waylon had to swallow back the small whimpers down his throat as strings of saliva dripped down his mouth. His legs became weak, and he had to force himself not to sob or groan. But he was shaking. He was..

“...please...oh god please don’t...”

The other man wrapped his arm around his waist and shoulder, and tightened. The smell of blood and sweat engulfed him, somehow peaceful. As he drifted back into that darkness he thought of Lisa. The sweet smell of her perfume. His children. He continued to mumble and sob, eyes burning with the heavy weight of fatigue. All he could think of was the other man’s voice. And warmth.

He said,

shhh...my darling.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon was caught trying to get away. Second part will be coming up soon.

2.  
"You ungrateful, selfish whore! How dare you run away from me! How dare you.."

The sound of the other man's loud, obnoxious swearing drew closer. The floor shook to the upsetting beat of his footsteps. Waylon listened as his sound reverberate as far away as the end of the hall. He could barely distinguish the trace of his shadow through the stained windowpane. The other man walked with a sluggish, sulky pace, with a gloomy temperature that seemed to bend and denature the air around him. Waylon held his mouth and nose. His hands on top of each other, wrists shaking with each careful breath he had to take.

"I'll find you, slut. Oh, yes I will. And when I do..."

He narrowed his eyes as he watched the moving gloom melt itself away, dissolved by the deep shadow down the hall. He stood up, and ran for it. He had the key. It was all he needed to get to the male ward. It was so close. He didn't have the time or attention to manage the noise when his limped foot knocked down obstacles, furniture and boxes. He was so close to the light. So close to it. So close..

A firm hand reached from behind and grabbed him.

The nails clawed on to his skin. For a moment his heart stopped. Breathing seemed like the most difficult thing in the world. The ground seemed to be caved in, pieces of wood chips breaking away under his bare feet, and wires were sticking out, clinging to his legs and drawing blood. He was shackled. It's the end of him.

No..

The hand pulled back with unquestionable force. He was forced to fall back, losing his balance while the hand reached up and caught his throat.

"You..After all I have done, all I have sacrificed for our family, OUR children. You whore..You don't deserve my love! You..."

The hands pressed harder. The fingers crushing on the muscle and tendons on his neck. He reached his hands out, gasping for air and support. He felt a flow warm liquid traveling upward toward his head, filling up the back of his eyes and ear canal, about the burst out any minute through the openings on his face. Oh God. He gargled with broken sounds. This is it.

"..pl..please...don't..please stop..."

He felt wetness on his cheeks, not sure if it was tears or blood. He was going to die. It couldn't be helped.

"Ah......gah.."

I tried, Lisa.

He shut his eyes, expecting. But it never came to him. The fingers loosened, and the shackle broke away. He was dropped on the ground.

The second he hit floor he was choking for air, coughing. His lungs were compressed so much that it felt as if a weight was knocking on his chest. But he was breathing again. He tried to cover up the coughs, but it was no use. His body was shaking so violently. He curled up in a mess, trying to shed away the pain.

"No...Not yet. You deserve to be punished. A good wife should be put in her place."

The other man bent down, eyeing him with an expressionless face.

"...your punishment must be severe, my darling."

And that's the last thing he remembers before he was knocked out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> omg it's finally here EVERYONE I AM SOOOOOO SORRY FOR MY LAZINESS DX  
> next chapter will be non-con so prepare yourselves!

3  
Before he was able to open his eyes he felt the other man's hands, lightly pressing against his thigh - the inner, softer, more vulnerable part of his body. For a second in confusion, the soft brush of those cold fingertips reminded him of those rare, lazy Sundays he got to share with Lisa. She always seemed to lack body heat. Early in the morning before any of them decide to get up, she would fold her legs and hug them under the blanket, complaining about how her toes are freezing, how tired she was the night before trying to make the kids fall asleep. She would say this with a drowsy smile and half-closed eyes, and she would kiss and hug him. The scent of her was so pleasant. And all he wanted was to keep his eyes shut forever, all he wanted...

He turned his head upward toward the dazzle above him like a blind fly, noticing that the ceiling was the only source of light around them. Ropes wrapped around his ankle and the wrists above his head, spreading his body open like some sort of insect, nailed across the table and put to display. 

All he wanted was to go home.

The hand on his skin pressed harder. He felt the pressure of nails, wet and sharp, as he looked down. That’s probably going to leave marks, he thought, but his body was too slow to react. So he stayed there quietly, with a blank stare at the other man and the shadow behind him. 

“...a dead fish on the table.” The man mocked.

His eyes shifted to look up with a blink. He felt his eyelid burning underneath the light, and his skull almost splitting, peeling itself from his head. The other man watched with satisfaction when his face cramped up from the pain, then bent down to touch the sweat and blood on his face with those chapped lips. Waylon shivered as the kiss traced across his cheeks. His brain was buzzing with voices, vibrating inside his head and bashing against his skull. He recklessly shut his eyes, trying to shut out the pain as well.

The other man stood up from his body. Waylon realized that he was naked when his shoulder sent out a quick shudder down his bare skin from the sudden coolness. The uneasiness forced him to pull on the ropes and turn his body away, but he failed.

“Hopefully it will be impossible for you to untie yourself again this time.” Eddie Gluskin said, smiling. “I’m tired of our little games. If you will, please stay still and be a good girl. That would make me a very happy man.”

Waylon didn't try to talk. Somehow the voices and the pain were pushed into the back of his mind by sparks of fire, and all he could think with and feel was anger. There was nothing to lose, he thought. Not anymore. So he fixed his eyes on the bastard, wordlessly resenting and cursing him.

The smile faded as Gluskin’s face grew cold. Waylon flinched, suddenly aware of the consequences. 

“You really are tough aren't you, darling.”

The man said coldly, and Waylon squeaked when the hands closed on his legs with a grip. Waylon looked down toward the touch and saw his hand uncovering the dark segmented lines drawn above his knees and around his thighs. 

His heart ached with an abrupt pause.

No...“No...”

His throat was swollen and sticky, his voice came out dry, like desperate a whimper.

“...My God No...No you can’t...”

“I have to stop you from trying to escape again, my dear. You will have to bear through this. It’s merely physically pain. Think about our future, our family...”

“No please...please...”

His courage was gone. All he could do was beg and plead while crying. Why? Why did this have to happen to him...

“Please...Please I’m begging you...I’ll do anything, I’ll listen to everything you say...I’ll do anything just please don’t do this to me...”

“...anything...?”

The man caught his words, and let out a sigh of pleasure. 

“Then, my dear...”

The hand left his body to lift up his face, and Waylon stopped choking on his tears when the tip of those fingers pressed against his lips. 

“I want to use your mouth.”


End file.
